Bleeding Into Reality
by Scribomaniac
Summary: Prompt: Rowan has a nightmare!


Rowan hummed with utter happiness. The grass beneath him was soft, the sun above him was warm, and Lyria's form, curled into his side, was like a balm to his soul. Carding his fingers through her caramel brown hair, Rowan pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. She sighed, her warm breath caressing the skin of his neck. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine at the feeling. Brushing her thumb against the thin cotton shirt stretched against Rowan's chest, Lyria sat up so she could lean over Rowan.

Rowan smiled up at her, wishing he could freeze time and keep them in this moment, just the way they were, forever. He'd give up anything to keep staring into her bright, light green eyes. " _I love you, Rowan_ ," she pressed her palm to his cheek before leaning down to kiss him. Knowing Lyria's nature–-soft, shy–-Rowan knew she meant for the kiss to be brief and chaste. That was not his nature, though, so when she began to pull away, Rowan reached up and tangled his fingers into her long, wavy hair at the base of her neck and pulled her down for a proper kiss. Lyria didn't hesitate to open her mouth to him, immediately submitting to his dominance. Rowan groaned into her mouth, his hand twitching with the desire to pull on her hair. Lyria didn't like such roughness, though, and so he held himself back. Something wet dropped onto his cheek, distracting Rowan enough to make him pull back.

" _You didn't save me, Rowan._ " Lyria whispered, her eyes sad and full of tears. Blood ran from her nose and ears in streams, flooding down onto Rowan's face and down her chin and neck. Rowan was frozen. He couldn't move. He could only watch as more and more blood poured out of her. " _And you can't save her._ "

" _Who?_ " He rasped, barely able to form the word. His brows furrowed. He didn't care about anyone else. Just Lyria. Only Lyria. Lyria, his beautiful, kind mate, who he couldn't help. Couldn't save. He felt helpless and small, like a new born babe. He couldn't move, and he couldn't look away. But then Lyria began to change. Her brown hair turned golden. Her dark, brown eyes turned blue. Scars appeared all over her skin, which began to tan and darken before his eyes. Before he knew it, he was no longer looking at Lyria, he was looking at–-

" _Aelin_ ," he whimpered, his heart constricted and his chest feeling as if it was caving in on himself. He needed to move. He needed to help her. The blood hadn't stopped. It kept pouring from her nose and ears, and soon began to drip from her eyes, mixing in with her tears. This couldn't be happening, Rowan thought, not now. Not after he'd just found her. His mate, his life, his everything. His hands shook with his effort to move them. He needed to touch her, protect her, save her! Then her scars opened and they, too, began to bleed.

" _You can't save me_ , Rowan," she told him. Her eyes, those brilliant blue eyes surrounded by a ringlet of gold, darkened and dimmed as her life began to fade. She coughed, blood spurted out from her mouth and sprayed his face, but he didn't even blink. He breaths were choppy, short. She couldn't breath. Looking up at him through her eyelids, Aelin tried to raise a hand and touch his face. Rowan felt just the barest hint of her touch on his cheek before her hand fell away, her body too weak to support the movement.

" _You can't save me_ ," she said again. She wheezed in one last breath before closing her eyes. Tension seeped out of her body and she began to fall backwards, away from Rowan.

 _No_ , Rowan thought, _no no no no no-_

"Aelin!" Rowan shouted himself awake, bolting upright in his bed aboard the ship. His green eyes glinted in the darkness as he looked around his cabin for the mate that was no longer by his side. A cold sweat covered his body, and his muscles spasmed with aftershocks of his nightmare. Memories flooded his mind. Maeve kidnapping Aelin. Meave disappearing with her aboard a ship. Aelin sacrificing herself for the people she loved. Realizing Aelin was his mate.

Rowan growled, deep and low, not caring who he woke up. He barred his fangs and tore apart anything and everything he could get his hands on in his rage. Feathers covered the room from torn pillows. Shards of wood were scattered across the floor. The ship rocked sharply from side to side as his winds ravaged the skies outside. Only when there was nothing left to destroy did rest. His body suddenly gave out on him and he sat in the middle of his room, amidst his carnage. He wished there was a village nearby he could destroy. He wished Maeve were here so he could rip out her throat. After several shaky breathes, however, he scolded himself. Wishing wouldn't help him–wouldn't help Aelin. He needed to keep his wits about him. He needed to keep his sanity in tact. So he repeated the only words of comfort he still had in his head over and over again. The same words he'd repeated in his mind, like a mantra, ever since arriving on the beach that fateful day to find his wife gone.

He was Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius.

And he would get Aelin back.

 **A/N: Leave a review and let me know what you thought. I hope I did Lyria's description justice. If there's anything I missed let me know!**


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